


In War

by BlossomsintheMist



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Grey Wardens, M/M, Multi, Multiple Wardens, mentions of the Dark Ritual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 07:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3479810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlossomsintheMist/pseuds/BlossomsintheMist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two Wardens discuss likely outcomes before the march on Denerim and the battle with the archdemon.  Set in an alternate universe where a brother and sister Mahariel both became Grey Wardens at Ostagar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In War

**Author's Note:**

> Featuring my male Warden Arelan Mahariel and [Ossobuco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ossobuco/pseuds/Ossobuco)'s female Warden Lyna Mahariel, who are brother and sister, Lyna the older and Arelan the younger. Written for a prompt meme on tumblr, the prompt was: "things you said when you were scared."

"What happens now, lethallan?"  Arelan kept his voice quiet, where he sat braced against the parapet.  He was looking the other way from the lake, toward where they knew Denerim lay.  He couldn’t see anything, of course, no smoke rising, but they wouldn’t be able to, would they?  It was so far away.

All he could think about were the people in the city.  The elves in the alienage.  Who would protect them?  None of the shemlen cared to, surely.  Had they saved them just to be savaged by the darkspawn?  Better off in Tevinter, he thought with a sick lurch in the pit of his stomach.  And the shemlen, too, none of them deserved this.  They were just innocent people, and they were defenseless. Sanga and the workers at the Pearl, the people at the tavern, Sister Justine and the old sister who kept talking about food, the traders in the market.  Alistair’s sister.   _Mythal._

"We march on Denerim," Lyna said.  Her voice, was even, steady, and when he looked up, she had her arms crossed across her chest, over her light armor, but her eyes were fixed where his were, and he could see the fine tremor in her jaw.

"And four Grey Wardens is better than none, I suppose," Arelan said, but it was hard to suppress the surge of fear welling up, sick and dark, in his belly.  "We march, just like that.  Denerim is days away—"

"We don’t have any other choice," Lyna said tightly.  "You know that."

"What I wouldn’t give for one of Wynne’s griffons right now," Arelan said, with a weak smile.  He could hear the tightness, the tension, in his own voice.

At least that got a gruff laugh out of Lyna.  ”We’d need more than one,” she said.

"Ah, well, true enough," Arelan said, trying to coax more of a smile out of her.  "If wishes were griffons, eh?"

But Lyna’s face returned to the grimness from before.  ”We may not be fast enough,” she said, unwillingly, as if the words were dragged from her.  ”We can only hope that the archdemon will remain there long enough for us to confront it.”

That would be awful.  To reach the wreck and ruin of the city and not even have the archdemon there?   _Dirthamen, Falon’din_ , Arelan prayed, closing his eyes, just for a moment.   _Let it not come to that.  Guide us, please.  Guide me.  Guide us away, out from under, the wings of death. I give myself willingly, but not these people, not yet.  Not yet.  Let us end this._

"Sister," he said, and his voice broke, he couldn’t help it.  He clasped his hands over his knee, rested his forehead on them, took a deep breath, then looked up at her.  She looked back, eyebrows raising, the hard line of her jaw softening.  "What if we fail?" he asked.

Her hand came to rest on his shoulder and squeezed.  ”Then the Orlesian Wardens will stop the Blight,” she told him.  ”If it comes to that.”

"But Ferelden will be lost," he said, and swallowed.  "All of it … everyone … ."

She nodded, gravely.  ”It will not happen,” she said.  ”We  _will_  stop the blight here.  We will.  I swear it on my life.”

"What about on Alistair’s?" Arelan asked, reckless, pushing too hard, and knew it, but he wanted to know the answer, wanted to see her reaction.

She looked at him as if stricken to the bone in battle, eyes wide and shocked, even hurt, but she swallowed, recovered quickly.  ”And on Alistair’s,” she said.  ”He would die as willingly as I would, as you would, to end this.”

_So would Zevran_ , Arelan thought, suddenly, fiercely.   _And he isn’t even a Warden.  So would any of them._ Leliana, Wynne, Sten … he couldn’t bear the thought of it, but they might have to.  They might lose any number of friends, companions, innocents, in the days ahead.  Just like they had lost—like he had failed—Tamlen.

"I know he would, Lyna," Arelan said softly.  "I just wondered if you were willing to let him."

Her face blazed suddenly, just as fierce, before it was dampened.  ”It is his life,” she said.  ”His right.  But if it comes to that, I will take the blow.”

Arelan privately thought that Alistair would have something to say about that, but Lyna was right.  It was his life.  And if Arelan had his way, none of it would matter, anyway.  He thought of Morrigan, and swallowed.  He simply hoped he could perform.  He had never been with a woman, and even her dark beauty failed to sway him, not like Zevran’s sly smile and bright eyes, his clever hands, the lithe strength of him, or even Alistair’s broad shoulders and shy grin.  Which was not something he planned on telling Lyna about any time soon, that last.

"I don’t want you to die," he said, and suddenly was aware he sounded like a very little child, grasping at his older sister for reassurance.  He blinked suddenly stinging eyes.  "We were always together.  How can Falon’din take you and not me?"

"You will not," Lyna said, and it was a growl.  "If I die for this, you  _will not_  follow me.  If it comes to one of us, then  _one_  of us will die.  Not the other.”  And it will be me, her face said.  Arelan thought of her, lying bloodied and broken and  _soulless_.  Thought of Alistair screaming a denial, cradling her body and weeping.  Thought of losing his sister.  Thought of losing Alistair, seeing him fall and seeing the light go out of Lyna’s eyes along with him.  Thought of never teasing him again, or feeling his arm around his own shoulders.

He thought of what it would do to Zev if he died, the way he’d touched the earring in Arelan’s ear again and again last night, the way his arm had found its way around Arelan’s waist and settled there, gripping tightly, as Zevran breathed out, touched his forehead to the back of Arelan’s neck and heaved unsteadily for air.

He thought of Morrigan again and what he had promised her.  It had to work.  But even if it did, one or all of them could still die.  He knew that.

"I will not follow," he swore, and looked into Lyna’s eyes.  "I swear it to the Dread Wolf.  May he take me if I fail you.  If you fall, I will not follow you.  I will lead the Wardens."

A sort of dark, quiet pride came into Lyna’s face, and she smiled.  ”Thank you,  _da’assan_ ,” she said, and her voice was choked.

Arelan stood up and offered his arms to her, and she took them, squeezed his forearms, and then moved in to hug him, quick and hard, the way she always did.  He buried his face in her neck and squeezed her tight around her back.  ”Always, sister,” he said.  And he thought,  _I will not lose you.  Not tomorrow. And not the next day._

They would march.  And they would find a way.  They had to.  There was no other choice.  They had left the clan for this, and they were all that was left of the new one they had sworn themselves to, them and Alistair.

He was not going to fail again.


End file.
